


Coming Home

by Angel_Is_Alive



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Kurt's a sweetheart, M/M, Warren sees his dad again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 14:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10492764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_Is_Alive/pseuds/Angel_Is_Alive
Summary: Warren comes to terms with one of his worst fears: meeting his father after all these years. Kurt helps him deal with his stress.





	

It was raining when they arrived at Worthington Industries, which Warren knew was damn well indicative of some sort of cataclysmic apocalypse. He felt a small jab of amusement at that; though he had thought of En Sabah Nur as a sort of screwy father figure, his real dad was much more of an apocalyptic force. He swallowed at the thought.

It felt very strange to not carry his wings on his back, and Warren pitched forward out of the taxi as he exited. Kurt followed with much more grace after he thanked and paid the driver, who only nodded and gave him an odd stare in his mirror. Warren drew his arm over his head in an attempt to block out the rain, to little avail. 

Kurt hopped out and shut the door. He danced over to Warren’s side and blamed his unstableness on trying to avoid puddles, but Warren knew he was just as unaccustomed to a shifted form as Warren was. He reached out for Warren as he stumbled into his side, then breathlessly laughed and looked up. Warren's arms were wrapped around him securely, catching him before he fell face-first into a puddle. Kurt’s eyes sparkled with mirth and his cheeks shone with water when he flashed a flat-toothed grin. Together they stood in the pouring rain on a sidewalk in New York, and Warren couldn’t have been more content to do so.

“Ready?” Kurt asked while glancing expectantly towards the skyscraper, and Warren totally was, but he wanted to take a moment to look over his friend’s face. They were experimenting with new disguising technology (courtesy of Hank) that changed their appearance. They each wore a “watch”, a dial that changed their form in part or in whole depending on what they turned it to. Outwardly, the contraptions looked nothing out of the ordinary, but when one truly studied them, one would find that inside the glass face was a complex system of gears and dials, combined with an orb of magenta, pulsing energy.

Despite protests from Erik about not hiding their mutations, about being comfortable parading down the streets in their own skins, Kurt and Warren had both shifted for fear of getting kicked out of Worthington Industries before they even entered the building. Warren had insisted they do such as memories of his father resurfaced with a particular ferocity.

Kurt had to change his whole appearance. His skin turned to a dark mocha, with huge, green eyes and curly hair. His nose was sharp and he had dimples when he smiled. Kurt had cried when he realized that his hands had changed from three-fingered to five-fingered, not because it hurt, but because a deep-set part of himself finally knew that he could walk the city streets without getting dirty looks.

Something about a portal dimension trapped their extra additions in suspended time, but Warren was hardly listening when Hank explained the science to the two of them. He was much more focused on Kurt’s new form, his baby-smooth skin, and his eyes. Warren himself didn’t change at all save for the removal of his wings.

Warren wiped his hands on his slacks, which were damp but not from the rain. He felt a nudge at his elbow and his heart jumped a little when Kurt slid his arm into Warren’s and tugged him towards the building as if it was natural. They fit together, he and Kurt, Warren mused as they trudged up to the doorway and let themselves inside. Warren went to shake his wings dry, but his heart stopped as he realized they were no longer a part of him, at least for the time being.

He rehearsed his spiel in his head; his name was Werner Xavier, who lived with his father in Westchester, New York, and temporarily taught economics at his father’s private school. He was looking for a management position in Worthington Industries. This man was his fellow teacher, Kurt Wagner (Kurt had no need to change his name), and he was also seeking a job.

The real reason they had come here, was to try to talk to Warren’s father. About what, Warren wasn’t sure, but Kurt had assured him that it would do him some good to see his dad after so many years.

Warren knew Kurt’s intent was to get them to hug and make up, but there was no way in hell that was going to happen. He would bet his last dollar that Warren Worthington II would be just as bitter as Warren was.

There was a chance, Kurt assured him. He would be right beside him, Kurt assured him. 

I’ll be okay, Warren told Kurt, but he wasn’t okay, and he wouldn’t be okay, but maybe for an hour he could pretend his father didn’t try to kill him for the first seventeen years of his life.

\--

The secretary was an old woman named Cathleen. She wore a sweater-dress and heels that tapped loudly on the tile as she walked Warren and Kurt to Mr. Worthington’s office. Kurt made easy conversation with her as they ventured up staircases and through halls, while Warren trailed behind.

Memories flooded back of him toddling down these hallways, then eventually sprinting, and then, on his last night, soaring above the short carpet on premature wings. He swallowed and stilled when he crossed paths with a painting of his family.

He was sat on his mother’s lap, grinning widely into the middle distance, reaching out with one hand for something. His father stood behind his mother with a gentle smile on his face. And his mother, oh, his mother (it brought stinging tears to his eyes to see her face after so long), sat daintily on a white wooden rocking chair with her hands clasped around a young Warren’s tummy. Warren fought the urge to reach out and touch her face, seek the warmth of her skin and her love.

He abruptly pulled out of his trance as Cathleen sighed beside him. 

“Warren’s family,” she explained in a hushed tone. “His wife passed away almost two decades ago.” She paused and studied the painting carefully.

“What about the baby?” Warren asked casually. He eyed his shoelaces.

Cathleen raised her gaze from its place on the painting and looked at Warren. He could feel her stare burning holes in his head. 

“Well,” she began, “I was the boy’s nanny for about a year or so. He was such a sweet little angel.” Warren fought back a scoff at that. “Anyway, one night several years after Kathryn, the boy’s mother, had died, Mister Worthington made an announcement that his son, the baby you see here, had passed away in his sleep as well.” Cathleen shook her head with a low sound of discontent. “No, I know that’s not true, you see, I looked after him that night, his son. I was with the child. He didn't die, no, sir.” She stepped back and turned her head to the left and to the right, before moving in close to Warren. “You see, young man, there were rumors that floated about that his son was a mutant. And Mister Worthington detested their kind, the old-fashioned man that he was.” Warren’s breath hitched at her next words: “Some say they saw the child fly out of his room that night.”

Warren stared owlishly at the secretary, who seemed to look through him rather than at him. “I was there,” Cathleen whispered. “I saw the boy with the wings, Mister Xavier. I saw him escape. There was no funeral, you see. No body. That boy was an angel.”

Whatever possessed Warren to break into hysterical laughter at that moment, he didn't know. But as soon as Cathleen repeated the word “angel” for the millionth time in the story, Warren’s sanity was completely and utterly lost. He shoved his wrist in front of his mouth to muffle the laughter and felt angry tears stabbing the backs of his eyelids. He was a mess.

Thank goodness for Kurt, who quickly led Warren into the one-room bathroom by the arm and locked the door.

Warren broke down into laughter and tears and he cursed aloud, at his father for making his life such hell, at his mother for dying, at himself for...a lot of things. Kurt grabbed a wad of paper towels and turned on the sink to drown out Warren’s cries, then dampened the paper and wiped Warren’s cheeks as he sobbed. He held his hand through his little episode, the only thing that anchored Warren to the world at the moment.

“This is so stupid,” Warren gasped after a minute of hysterics. “I'm an idiot. I'm so dumb, this is a bad idea, I shouldn't be here…” He fought to catch his breath through his tight throat. Kurt made an unhappy noise in his throat and tugged Warren in for a hug, kissing his temple lightly.

“No, no, this is what you need, Engel, you need to face him once and for all.” Kurt pulled back and cupped Warren’s face in his hands, his warm, careful hands, and stared intently into his eyes.

Warren hiccuped and circled Kurt’s waist with his arms. “M’ scared,” he whispered. Kurt nodded and leaned in to drop a small peck on his nose. He fought down the urge to laugh, then hummed and let his eyes fall shut as Kurt ran his fingers through his blonde curls. His eyes stung from the salt as his tears dried.

“Of course you are. That's what makes this all worth it in the end, ja? So you can go home at the end of the day, and know that you don't have to be scared anymore?” Once again Kurt’s lips connected with his forehead. ‘The attention’s nice,’ Warren mused. ‘What would I do without you, Kurt…’ He pushed his face into Kurt’s neck and sighed. Kurt massaged the small of his back, right where his wings would have ended.

“I love you,” came Kurt’s murmur, gentle and low and silky.

Warren smiled, his cheeks warming up. “Mmh. You too, Kurtie.” It hurt only a little to say it, but it hurt nonetheless, for he doubted Kurt would ever say it and mean it like Warren did.

\--

Cathleen looked frazzled when Warren and Kurt stepped out of the bathroom. She repeatedly apologized, asked if they needed any water, asked if they would rather choose another time to meet with Mister Worthington, and much more that Warren tuned out. They walked at a quicker pace than before and squished into an elevator beside other sharply-dressed businesspeople. 

Warren’s fingers brushed against Kurt’s, and Kurt grabbed onto his hand in return. He looked down with a small grin, trailing his eyes up Kurt’s arm, to his exposed collarbones that peeked out from above his buttoned shirt, to his neck and his lips and his eyes. He held his gaze for a minute, laughing quietly at the way Kurt stuck the tip of his tongue out from between his lips.

The group dissipated from the cramped space as the elevator let off, and Kurt, Warren and Cathleen were the last to exit on the very top -- 17 floors above ground level. Warren shivered with delight as he looked out the large, glass windows, picturing how nice it would feel to leap from one of them and ride the warm air currents for hours.

Maybe if he really got this job, he would be able to do just that. Maybe he could be free with his mutation while still being the head of his father’s company.

Maybe one day he could take Kurt flying like he knew he loved, holding the blue boy close to his chest as he soared through the clouds on angel’s wings.

Warren was jerked out of his daydreams when he heard a heavy oak door open and the handle released. He eyed the sign beside the doorframe: 

WARREN WORTHINGTON II  
FOUNDER OF WORTHINGTON INDUSTRIES

He took a deep breath and thanked Cathleen as she ushered them through the doorway and wished them good luck. Kurt discreetly took his hand while they walked to a second set of glass doors. 

Warren could see a man with graying hair sitting at a large desk in an equally as large chair. He touched his own curls, the ones that fell in the same fashion over his forehead as the man at the desk. He swallowed before pushing through the glass doors.

He noticed three things when he walked into the room: the first being Kurt slipping his hand from Warren's; the second being the tired smile his father gave to him; and the third being a small, white feather in a glass case that sat on the edge of his father’s desk next to his name tag. Two chairs sat facing Mr. Worthington’s desk, and the two sat down in them. Warren's father set down his fountain pen gently in its holder and closed his notebook.

“Well, boys, I’m very pleased to see that you two are interested in a position within Worthington Industries.” 

Kurt gave a dazzling smile in return. “Thank you, Mister Worthington. It's an honor to be here.”

“Please,” Warren's father insisted, raising both hands. Warren zoned in on the wedding ring on his finger. “Call me Warren. I don't see the need for formalities in such close quarters.”

Warren gave a pained smile. “Yep. That's, uh, a nice name.” He felt Kurt’s hand on his leg underneath the table.

“Thank you, my boy. I loved the name so much, as well, that I named my son Warren, too.” Both Warrens visibly flinched after he finished. Kurt, however, straightened up and leaned forward.

“Your son?” he inquired.

Warren felt a cold sweat break out on his palms. The room grew colder and smaller as he focused on his father’s face; so old, older and grayer than he remembered. Hearing him speak was like looking in a funny mirror, and his tired eyes looked nothing like he remembered.

“Ah yes, I had a son. Many years ago.” Warren Sr. smiled sadly at Warren. “He's gone now, though, long gone.” He steepled his fingers and glanced down at them, a faraway look on his face. “I don't talk about him very often. He di… I lost him many years ago.”

Kurt nodded as Warren Sr. talked. “I'm very sorry for your lo-”

“Why did he leave?” Warren asked suddenly. He felt his father's eyes narrow on him. Warren Sr. was quiet for a minute before he talked again.

“I… he… well, I really shouldn't be discussing this right now with you two, but I suppose if we have some time…” He drew in a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. “He was very angry with me at the time he left. We didn't share the same beliefs, and…” He swallowed and looked up. “And I wasn't a good father. I wasn't the best father I could have been. My wife’s death really affected the both of us, and… I wasn't around enough to care for my son when he needed it.”

Warren could have cried right then and there if he wasn't so angry. “Why didn't you?” he asked around a tight ball in his throat. He and Warren Sr. locked eyes and engaged in a tense staring contest. “Why weren't you there for him?”

“I was scared of what I was going to do to him,” Warren Sr. confessed. “I had done so many bad things to him. I didn't want to hurt him any further.” 

Kurt leaned in and placed a hand on Warren Sr.’s clasped hands. “If you had one more chance to see your son, if he was here right now, what would you say to him?”

Warren Worthington the Second smiled, years worth of pain and tension seeping through the wrinkles on his face like creekwater through stones. He looked Warren dead in the eye, and spoke.

“Words can never make up for the things I did to you. No amount of apologies or guilt can change what happened after your mother died. I understand this, now; it was never your fault, my boy, please, please know that it was never your fault. You can't change that which you are born as, and I know that now.

“I wish I could take those terrible years and crush them beneath my shoe. I would give everything up, my company, what little friends I have left, I would give it all up if we could redo those years. If we could forget. But I know those years can't be forgotten, nor can my actions be forgiven. All I ask is that you understand that I know better now.

“I love you.” Warren Sr. swiped at his eyes and stood. Warren followed suit, and found that he stood a few inches taller than his father. “I hope we can mend whatever bonds we have left.”

“Dad!” Warren choked, and he leaned forward and embraced his father tightly. “Dad, dad, dad, hell…”

Warren Sr. hugged his son back. “Warren, my son, I'm so glad you found me again.”

Kurt sat batting his eyes with a tissue, a watery smile on his face.

“I love you, son. I've missed you.”

“I love you too, dad. I'm sorry. I was so angry, but I know you've changed now, I love you, I'm sorry…”

Cathleen smiled as she watched the scene from behind the glass doors. She turned to the picture hanging outside Warren Sr.’s office, of Kathryn Worthington. She studied the slim, elegant face of the lady she had looked up to for years.

“Your angels are back together, Kathy,” she whispered. “Your angels finally came home.”

The picture stared back, unmoving, but Cathleen swore she saw a quirk of her lips.


End file.
